


Christmas Wrappings

by flecksofpoppy



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Gen, Inspired By, M/M, Not Every Woman Can Wear Red, Off Season Holiday Fic, Pre-Canon, Sappy, Will really has a soft spot, You Best Be Wrappin' Dat Properly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-10
Updated: 2012-10-10
Packaged: 2017-11-16 00:36:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/533546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flecksofpoppy/pseuds/flecksofpoppy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by deadcellredux's fantastic, "Unexpected." Grell and Will go back a long ways.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Christmas Wrappings

**Author's Note:**

  * For [deadcellredux](https://archiveofourown.org/users/deadcellredux/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Unexpected](https://archiveofourown.org/works/533507) by [deadcellredux](https://archiveofourown.org/users/deadcellredux/pseuds/deadcellredux). 



> This is the result of deadcellredux and I exchanging prompts at work after having shitty days.

William T. Spears does not often go shopping. Not only does he not go shopping, but he certainly doesn't go to the living world for anything of which he might find himself in need.

It's December, London's winter month, where roasted chestnuts waft from carts, shops stay open late, and generally the cobblestones seem to dance under humans' feet.

Well. At least that's what he's objectively observed in the past few decades.

He walks along the paving stones and feels somehow at a loss without purpose. He's not here for a reap, looking into shop windows at silly displays and doubting his own intentions.

It's just...a sense of obligation. Yes. A response to a sentiment that, while he thinks silly, is something he's come to expect.

Grell Sutcliff has given him a gift on Christmas every year since they graduated.

The first year, he had rejected it. It was on the verge of a new century, and Grell and slurred, a bit late, that he was quite fond of that "stoic gaze" -- _I fancy you, darling_ \-- and tried to snog Will right on the mouth.

As if he hadn't known Sutcliff fancied him.

When he pulled away and expressed disdain, Grell had said with a sly smile, "Be careful of your glasses, _lover_."

That was two decades ago.

It was the Christmas of 1800, when Grell got Will his first gift.

"It's just a bit of silk for me, really," Grell had said, fluttering his eyelashes as Will opened the box carefully.

"Honestly," he had murmured, his face coloring like the schoolboy he still really was at the time. "And what exactly do you expect me to do with this...garment?"

"Well..." Grell had replied.

Will had actually _blushed_ ; he resents this fact every time Grell brings it up, which is often.

Every window holds something different -- dolls, clothing, jewelry -- but now, none of it will do.

It was the year 1830 when Grell first gave Will a book.

"What is this?" he had asked.

Grell had actually looked hesitant for a moment, but then said with a rather sheepish voice, "Shakespeare. I prefer the _romantic_ works, of course. But I must say, darling, you're quite bookish. Therefore..."

Will hadn't known what to say, and simply blinked, adjusted his glasses, and said awkwardly, "Thank you."

"And what do you have for _me_ , then?"

"Your bonus check is quite substantial this year."

Grell had smiled and flipped his hair, pleased that he had managed to keep Will engaged in conversation for more than five minutes.

At the end of the evening, Will had found the envelope still sitting at the edge of his desk, untouched.

He goes into a clothing shop with lots of red in the windows. He knows Grell likes red; it's silly, the color red. It's silly for everything -- clothing, shoes, cosmetics. It's terribly vibrant and garish and awful and--

"How much are these?"

"Oh sir, yes," answers the store manager, "those are made of the finest angora. They are soft, and quite suited to a lady's walking boots this time of year."

Will looks at them, and thinks back on the first moment that he decided he disliked his assigned exam partner. 

After they had left the examiner's office, Grell had leaned against the wall with haughty sigh and a resentful cross of his arms over his chest. Will had maintained a placid, polite expression, until Grell shifted his hips and leaned one foot against the wall. There, just under the cuff of his trousers that had shifted up to his ankle, Will had first seen a beacon of flagrant immodesty -- _blood red socks_.

Red was a color that Will was not well acquainted with before he met Grell.

Grell is a nuisance, a terrible inconvenience, a terrible exam partner, a--

"And shall I wrap it then?"

"Yes," he answers, "and please ensure the bow is red."


End file.
